


33 Pots of Rosebushes

by whimsicalmuse



Category: The Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M, Post-Filming Lord of the Rings (Movies), Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-02-05
Updated: 2005-02-05
Packaged: 2018-08-07 16:00:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7720954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whimsicalmuse/pseuds/whimsicalmuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>?Wherever I settle, I want a rose garden.?</p>
            </blockquote>





	33 Pots of Rosebushes

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Shirasade: this story was originally archived at the [Monaboyd.net Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Monaboyd.net), which was closed in September 2014 due to software issues and a lack of new submissions for several years. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in October 2014. I e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Monaboyd.net Archive collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Monaboyd_Archive/profile).

Dom loved to listen to Motown. It was a secret side of him that’d erupt in a hilarious flail, and some unsuspecting person would find him shimmying in the kitchen, soap bubbles bouncing, as he mouthed the words to “Can I get a Witness.”

Dom loved roses too, but he kept that fact buried even deeper than his love of Motown.

The only hint he’d ever given as to his love of the bloom was in a drunken mumble the night of his birthday in Paris. He had turned on his side and reached out to touch the vase of roses Liv had sent him and then laid back with a sigh.

“Wherever I settle, I want a rose garden.”

When Dom was angry, he’d bottle it inside, until it bubbled over like poison champagne, and spill between them. The last time his anger bubbled, things were shredded between them, and hard words were spit to and fro.

_You don’t even know me anymore you’re too strung up in her!_

You have no roots, Dom, you’re blowing in the wind you have no house you can call a home!

No thanks to you, Billy! No thanks to you!

And they left in separate desperation, left to lick their wounds, and perhaps have a bit of a cry.

And they left to think.

And Billy thought.

Thought of the directions Dom’s hair stuck up in the morning. He thought of the feel of Dom’s breath against his ear. Thought of the many reasons he loved Dom so much it hurt in his chest, a myriad of whys that could be strung up like Christmas lights. Thought of their first “I love you.”

Thought of their last.

Thought of his house, and how he too had no place he could call a home, and thought of the woman in his life, and how unfair it had all been. How unfair he had been.

And then he went to the garden store, and brought some potted plants.

Thirty three pots of rosebushes.


End file.
